


no words

by asterisco



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M, Mature warning just in case???!?, beer is bad for u, dubcon kind of but not really??, so don't drink kids, wow John u dick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-23
Updated: 2012-08-23
Packaged: 2017-11-12 17:25:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/493805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asterisco/pseuds/asterisco
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John needs to stop playing this nightly game</p>
            </blockquote>





	no words

**Author's Note:**

> Another late night drabble

His hair tickles your nose as he nuzzles his face into your chest. He sighs, ever so content, and runs his fingers, long and nimble and calloused, through your hair. He likes this game. It's a dumb, despicable game where he downs a six pack of beer and lets the buzz carry him to you, into your arms, where he kisses your jawline and whispers in your ear lies about how much he loves you.

Alcohol takes away the responsibility. He just uses it as a way to wake up the next morning and call himself straight and your very best, platonic, bro.

You hate this game,

You hate the kisses trailing down your neck, the way the pads of his thumbs caress your cheeks, the lies he whispers. You hate how blue his eyes are, the color of the sky or maybe that single point where the ocean meets the horizon. You hate the way he smiles so sweetly at you, with half-lidded eyes and him leaning down slowly to nip at your ear or throat.

You hate it, you're taking advantage of him, he's taking advantage of you, yet you love him so so much and you get to be so close and it hurts and fills you with fire, burning you out from the inside.

You  
Hate

You hate how he smells like his soap and maybe slightly like cookies, you hate the way he nibbles and worries at his lower lip when he's anxious, you hate how easily he takes your hand in his and twines your fingers together and means nothing by it.

He isn't doing anything now. He just curls next to you, face in the crook of your neck, his arm draped over you, whispering that he loves you so much and that you can't leave and you're his, his.

You don't mind being his, but he certainly isn't yours.

\-----

He feels so nice like this. Dave is so pretty and perfect, and it fills you with warmth knowing no one else sees him like this. 

He's yours, from the red of his eyes to the curve of his cheek and the smattering of freckles on his neck, arms and running across his face. You've seen all of him, and you're still not tired of it.

You love his voice, smooth and low and sometimes breaking, and the sound of his laugh, sometimes a quiet chuckle and other times unrestrained. You love the times he actual smiles, a wide, genuine smile, because he looks so nice and at home and you know it's because of you, it's because he trusts you.

He trusts you with his whole life and soul and body and you're just so important to him and you've never been this to anybody except him. You can't lose him. If you do, who would love you like that? 

The thought of losing him to someone else fills you with a strange heat, one that shoots through your arm and make you curl your fingers in his hair, pull him close to you, flush against you. It makes you kiss him fiercely and leave faint red bruises on the base of his throat, wanting to stare at them and know that they mark him as yours.

But then you tell him you love him and he looks... upset, like he's just been punched in the gut, smacked in the face. You don't like that. You don't like that he never looks you in the eye when he says he loves you too, the way he sometimes just pulls away from your embrace and says he's sleeping on the couch tonight. What are you doing wrong? You think he might be slipping away from you, and the thought fills you with despair.

You need to find a way to keep him with you, forever.

So you kiss him roughly and murmur soft words into his ear, wondering how much you can write off in the morning.

**Author's Note:**

> Can't write happy I'm gomen


End file.
